This time again

So, this time again. We met again.
It’s been several years. As usual, you popped up in front me, out of nowhere. Then we made an appoinment somewhere in the middle of our hectic life.
We’re aging. You with your mohawk-wannabe haircut and me with my unusual long hair temporary permed. I poked your beer belly and you politely mentioned that mine is nothing compared to yours. I don’t mind.
Of course we managed to be alone. Just the two of us, embracing what can be done in such a short time. I inhaled your pheromones like crazy and noticed that you can’t take your eyes off of me.
We confessed that it’s wonderful to see each other again. I must say I’m happy, in a very precious way I can imagine. It is still the first two months of the year and I didn’t expect to be with you this soon.
We’ve been moving in a subtle way, careful and reckless at the same time. Realizing that we are not teenager again, and this is not young adult fiction scenes we’re playing parts in. But I must say I am happy, and high and bareboned crazy and everything. ‘Cause I like being with you, sharing breakfast, stroling the street with my hand in your hand, watching people and even more doing nothing with you. It’s been a great time we had, where we are a lover to each others. Personal and confidential.
And to have you in a zero distance is such a priviledge. I like the curve of your arms, the texture of your skin, the bright stars in your eyes and even more your big laughters shouted loud to my ears. And man, you don’t know how much you captivated me with the way you walk, the way you talk. I guess there’s no single thing about you that I don’t like.
But this time again, I think I prefer something to call my own.

That Rockaway feeling

I can feel it’s ending. That Sundays, when everyone rushed to the beach just because we had unseasonably warm weather in late September, ...